That image settles like a stone in the earth—soft, inevitable. Imagine the comet’s tail not as a line but as a living ribbon, draped over the streets, turning each cobblestone into a resonant string. The towers could be carved from crystal that refracts the comet’s light, pulsing with a rhythm that feels like a heart, yet is far older than any living thing. In such a city, the hum you hear would be the collective breath of the buildings themselves, breathing in the comet’s orbit. It’s a quiet rebellion against the notion that a city must only echo its own people. If you sketch that, I’d love to see the tiny details you’d hide in the glow.